12 Days of Kinkmas: Day #11 – “A Kitten for Christmas”

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She kept the best gift for last.
After all was unwrapped on their quiet Christmas morning, after they had their breakfast together – coffee and blueberry bagels – she disappeared into the spare room of their first house together, pulling open the cupboard door and reaching up over head to grab the box with the red and white stripes pattern.
She returned to him waiting on the couch patiently, hands in lap, and gently sat the box down in his lap.
“What’s this?” He asked, eyeing the box suspiciously.

She knew he didn’t like surprises – and something in her delighted in this small twist of fun she was doing to him – but she nodded towards him in a gesture that said open it and see.
He did so, carefully lifting the lid with both arms to see — the contents wrapped in plain gold wrapping paper.
He sighed, the way he knew she found funny, and paid no mind to the delicate wrapping paper, tearing it free and finding –
Cat ears around a headband.
He pulled it out of the box, running his hands over the black fuzz on the ears.
She couldn’t supress the smile on her face, it spread like wildfire, her cheeks taking the full brunt of the force.
Below the cat ears was a pink collar, as soft and fuzzy as the ears, with a little silver pendant attached reading Kitten.

“Interesting…just your size.”
He placed the collar on the cat ears – there was more to come.
Below the collar was a medium sized butt-plug, sleek and black. Attached to the end of it was a cat tail, soft and fuzzy (again) with a white stripe down the middle of it. All of this bought for just $79.99 – though he would never know that.
“I…must say. I am lost for words.”
She knew this, could tell this, from just the sound of his voice. He had this tone about him when he couldn’t find the words. It was a sweet feature. Genuine and shy and honest.

She could tell he liked it though, she could see thatin his eyes, the way they lit up with mischief, his mind going a million miles an hour just thinking of the possibilities.
Before she could talk about it, before she could say what was on her mind or even address how they’ve both been wanting to explore this part of themselves for the better part of their busy year, he was already getting up, pink fuzzy collar in hand.
“May I…Or would you rather –“

She was already brushing the intruding hair out of her eyes and behind her neck before he could finish.
With the collar attached, warm and snug around her neck, she felt truly at home – comfortable. At peace. She could tell by the way his eyes were beginning to glass over at he was at the same spot she was.

He put his arm around her and drew her in for a cuddle.

Clawing To Get Out: Realising My True Primal Self

I was a late bloomer to realising I was a primal. When I was 26, I befriended a lovely Canadian woman from Fetlife who talked to me about the ways of packs and who helped me realise I wasn’t so alone in the universe.

When I reconnected with a lovely lady who would go on to be my kitten and best friend and other piece of my soul puzzle, we realised together the full extents of our primality. Is that a word? I’m making that a word. Writing degree be damned!

The timing of these events take place shortly after I stared at my true self through the Magic Mirror Gate and came to terms with my psyche. My experience at the gate would lead me on to help my kitten understand some things about herself. And the more she spoke timidly of cages and collars and leashes, the more I realised how interested in this dynamic I really was.

Kitten made me realise just how deep into the primal dynamic I was, but she also brought out in me the other part of being primal – animalistic traits.

One evening during a special moment, she licked me, claiming she felt compelled to do so. I was taken aback. No one had never done that to me and it felt charming and special and lovely. I felt unique to her.

I tried it myself on her – gingerly, I might add – and sure enough, it has become a deep form of affection for the both of us. It doesn’t always happen but when it does, I feel that same giddy surge of love and excitement, knowing I’ve been marked.

I guess what I’m getting at is that being in contact with my kitten and her primal self has brought me out of my shell in a way. I have kept the knowledge of myself from the experience at the Mirror Gate and have allowed myself to be helped my her lovely mind in order to grow.

Licking and growling and biting is part of my existence now. In and out of the bedroom.

Memoirs Of A Dominant

Next week I will be turning thirty.
And looking back on the last ten years of my life is a strange and beautiful thing.

I’ve had the gift of life given to me but also of laughter and love and yeah, even Dominance. 

When I was twenty, I didn’t know what I do now. 

You could say I was Dominant, but I was coarse and unrefined. 

I could dominate – and I did – but it wasn’t with any sort of awareness of the bigger picture. I was playing chess one square at a time rather than the whole board.

Unknowingly, I had formed D/s relationships but neither me nor the lady I was with knew that. All I knew was that I had gone from being a loner to suddenly an attractive man – well, in the eyes of others anyway. At 20 I was insecure with myself in a way that I’m not now. 

My twenties were spent outside of anything BDSM related. There were flickers of it: The degradation that came out in my teens also came out in the bedroom. But I didn’t know terms, dynamics, things I wanted. I was coarse and unrefined and in a strictly vanilla relationship. 

It was around the time of my mid-twenties when something inside me awoke. Suddenly I wanted to learn. 

I was afraid to learn – there were times in the middle of the night where I woke from a dream to an ache I had ignored due to some of that catholic guilt I was raised with coming out – but I still had that desire. 

My long-term girlfriend at the time was not interested in the slightest. Not even after me trying to introduce to her some things I wanted to try. We simply were not compatible, though we hung onto each other long anyway.
Her dismissal led me to blogs and sites and that’s where I discovered Fetlife. That’s where I discovered apps like Whisper.

Suddenly I was finding that education I was so scared about. I deleted and signed up to Fetlife numerous times before I created the profile that exists today. 

Through whisper, I met a bubbly young lady. She was eighteen. I was 26 at the time. 
Blonde hair, blue eyes, piercings over her face and nipples. 
I did not have an affair with her, if that’s what you’re thinking. As I write this now, I can see that this was the origin of my Daddy side. 

You see, she came from a broken home. She was constantly in a state of distress. And over the weeks, we would talk and I would help in any way I can – because…well, because she felt like a little sister to me. 

The universe is a strange thing. It brings people together, it pulls people apart. And I guess, in that time, the universe gave me someone to talk to who was just as much seeking answers as I was. 

We would talk about our interests, mainly though, we would talk shit. And it was pleasant. 

I don’t know where she is now, but looking back, I think that was instrumental in forging my Daddy side. My caring side. My nurture side. 

EVENTUALLY my long term relationship with my girlfriend fell apart. We stopped being friends, we hung out in different rooms after work. We simply weren’t compatible. 

At the time, I wanted to fight. I felt that was what I wanted to do – fight for her. But when she showed no interest in fighting back, I decided to drop my compulsion to fix things or solve things and just…let her go. 

In the months after, I sought to explore myself. I moved in with my parents for a while, Iogged back into Fetlife. I took nude selfies despite my lingering guilt post-relationship. I wrote songs too. Really on-the-nose songs, with titles like ‘Penultimate’ and ‘Signposts’. It was my way to heal.

Through Fetlife – through people, really – I learnt what I was once too scared to learn. I spoke to women I befriended. Some I was drawn to on a really primal level. They helped point out what I was feeling. 

I had plenty of fascinating conversations about minds and life just staying in the intimate space of my childhood bedroom. In a lot of ways I was doing a loop, folding over back into my childhood town. Adulthood is weird.

But I learned I was a primal. I learned I was a Daddy. I had a six hour edging session – and I’m not exaggerating to prove something, I spent the majority of that day in bed pushing my limits. I was done crying, I was going to edge damnit. 

So you see, life is strange. Why we don’t accept our minds and our sexuality is stranger. I could lament and wonder why it wasn’t sooner that I had this life affirming epiphany, but you can’t go back. Only forward. 

If you have any questions regarding this post, always feel free to write me at my email. I’m more than happy to help you with your own journey.  

Why I Write: An Open Letter From Me to You…

Ladies and Gentleman,
I have been sitting here for the past twenty minutes trying to put into words what it means for me to write. 

Writing has been with me since I was a kid. And has evolved throughout the ages. I write a mix of genres – drama and horror and fantasy mainly – but starting this blog has seen me dive into the world of erotica. I learnt something about myself. I feel at home in the darkness, I feel the need to hone my craft, to write a compelling story, to entertain or shock.
My uni course – creative writing – I applied for that five times until the university relented.
When I was unemployed and job networks told me I couldn’t get a job in writing, that I just needed to apply for the job that they provided me with, I refused because I stubbornly believed in my dream.

And you know what? YOU are my dream. 
To be honest with you ladies and gents, I don’t think highly of myself. I’m too critical on my writing or my life. And you – the kind stranger – believe in me, which is why, in my darkest moods, I’ve decided to keep the blog and keep writing.

Why did I do Patreon? What right do I have to ask for money? My dream job was always to work as a freelance writer and I – perhaps stubbornly – thought I could attempt to live the dream – to write for the audience that has been so kind to me, and who enjoy my work. I just had to try. You guys and my writing mean the world to me. 
Even if it’s $1 a month that you pledge, that’s still $1 that will go towards my rent or my dream. It all adds up in the end and I would be eternally grateful.
Even If a handful of people, say 5, put in $1-5 each, I could work for you all from my home, in a space comforting my anxiety, on a time that suits you guys. For stories or insight into the craft or any commission. I could sit down in my study with my battered MacBook Pro and I’d be right where I feel I belong. Fulfilling my dream and giving you the greatest thing I could ever give 

In the mean time, I try not to be dissuaded. Maybe dreams are dreams, maybe I’m living in the clouds as a joker. Will I Persue my dream until it kills me? Maybe. But you don’t know how far you can go until you try. 
So I keep writing. For my kitten, my best friend, my world. For my readers, who do their part to keep the light within me alive. For myself, because creating world’s and characters and settings is like a drug I can’t quit. I need it, and need me. 
Why do I write? For her? For you? For me? What if I’m garbage? What if your responses are facades when you just spam likes without regard? 
I write because I cannot stop. Because if I didn’t, I would never learn how to get better. Because it’s therapeutic. Because I believe it’s the one good thing about me, God’s gift to me, and I have to see if the world appreciates it or whether I’m crazy.
Because we get one life and if I never started this blog, if I never tried my hand at Patreon to see if the world deemed me talented enough to pass on their hard earned cash for my stories, to support me, I would leave this world lonely and empty and dead inside.

Because it’s a part of me, twisting and turning within me. My soul. 

That’s why I write. That’s why I can’t stop trying or learning or helping you all. That’s why I started my Patreon and why I continue to mention it. 
I simply cannot, will not stop. Ever. Even if it kills me. 
Sincerely, 
TD&D

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Want me to write you a story? Want more thrilling and twisted erotica? Want to help me achieve my dream? Every dollar counts! 

View my Patreon here!

One Morning: Non-Fiction

“What are you doing? My mum’s going to be over any minute now”It began as an early morning cuddle in bed.

Kitten snuck in while I was dozing and wanted to curl up for a moment before grabbing a coffee with her mum. 

And yet, as I awoke, so did something else in me, something primal.

We didn’t last long cuddling before I began kissing her neck and sliding my hand down her pyjama shorties. 

To my surprise, the little girl was absolutely soaked. So soaked that I could slide my finger in and finger in.

She resisted, you know that? “(Name retracted)!” She cried. “No! I’ve got to get ready!”

I started running my thumb along her clit.

“No, stop. She could be here any minute. You know she’s always early”

“You’re coming” was all I said, I believe. I’m not entirely sure.

 At that, she resigned herself to her fate. It was like my order, or the clarity in my voice, was enough to set her still. She laid there quietly.

Kitten was reduced to a quivering moan, soft and unlike her normal speaking voice.

We laid in silence as I worked her clit, circularly and then across her slit, until she spoke out of the silence.

“Will you make love to me?”

I was hard from her moans, from the fact that she was soaking her cute little shorties.

We undressed in silence and gently, I climbed onto of her. 

There’s a rare thing that happens when we make love. I can’t quite put my finger on it, except to say that it has never lost its appeal. Everything is still magical, from undressing her to sliding my cock inside her and feeling how bad she has it for me. 

We make love to the symphony that is our moans and soon she comes once. Then again. And another time, before I give her a chance to breathe.

As we lay there, satisfied, me somehow still holding it together despite being with a goddess, she asks me one small thing.
Can I use my toy, Sir?

I answer yes and her smile lights up the room. She loves to play for me, with me, and I love to watch her enjoy the toy I hand picked myself.
I must admit, I feel pride there. I know what she likes. I know how she likes to come. This toy gets her there. 

Together we play, side by side, in complete harmony, me edging while sucking on her tits. First I suck gently, then I bite a little hard. I alternate between her nipples, giving one a break so it becomes less sensitive and more equally built up to breaking point.

It’s my call to kneel above her and come on her tits and my god, it feels fucking amazing. I empty my load on her, my masterpiece and she can only lick her lips as she reaches her own orgasm. Her fourth. Or was that fifth? I can’t recall now. 

But isn’t she a good girl? Waiting for her Sir to come before she comes herself? Haven’t I taught her well? 

I think about this as we lay side by side, looking at each other. 

It’s then I can’t help myself: I tell her – next time, don’t resist me.

She grins and goes to shower before her mother comes over. 

30 Days of Dominance – Day #1: Define Your Dominance


I did a 30 Days of Kink, which may or not feature a few recycled questions / answers. In the interest of the activity, I won’t look it up. I’ll just write the prompts here each day. I hope you join me on this deep dark adventure!
Does your Dominance – either what you practice or what you strive for – have a label? Do you view your preferred Dominant style as Taken in Hand, Domestic Discipline, Top/bottom, Dominant/submissive, Master/slave, Owner/pet, or some other description or combination? If you do not use a label, why?

I believe my relationship with my beloved kitty Kat would fall under that of just a Dominant / submissive.
But in saying that, there are aspects within our relationships and personality that have different encounters and / or feelings. She can be a little most times, while I can be a Daddy. Definitely the owner / pet dynamic, with her taking the role as a cat specifically. She loves her scratches behind the ear like I love to give them! 
There’s changes in our moods so at any moment, there will be delicious little shifts and changes in how we communicate, play or react to one another. Whether she’ll be a brat one evening or a cat could entirely depend on the day she’s had, and vice versa for me, which is to say maybe I’ll be an owner, a Master or just myself.
This is why I shy away from definitive labels. Fluidity, I think, is an important factor, those definitions of the types that come out can certainly help a couple in how to explore and proceed accordingly.

The madness of dreams


I had a dream about an alternate universe and in that alternate universe, I was a submissive belonging to a Domme. 

Kitten was not my Domme, I can’t really make out the physical attributes of said Domme, but I do know she had a hypnotic voice.

In the dream, I was excited to serve and obey – all for the chance, to have a taste. To prove myself.
In the waking world, this is absolute nonsense. It goes against my every desire. It is foreign to me, to be led by another. It’s strange because I would out of place and uncomfortable. 
I have no doubt in my mind that dreams are dreams – fragments, sensations whirled together to create a sometimes meaningful sometimes illogical picture – like viewing through a kaleidoscope.
For example, I don’t like being led. But the idea of a strong dominant woman is as appealing as strong submissive woman, know what I mean?

I don’t like the idea of being made to wait, of obeying – but I do practice edging.

And of course, I like to take my kitten when I want, not to be told when I can. Not to wait for someone else to decide. 
So: the madness of dreams. How are yours, dear readers?